


Mercy of the Mind

by gay_briel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Multiple, Science Fiction, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:38:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_briel/pseuds/gay_briel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one has set foot on Earth in centuries -- until now.</p><p>Ever since a devastating nuclear war, humanity has lived on spaceships far above Earth's radioactive surface. Now, one hundred juvenile delinquents -- considered expendable by society -- are being sent on a dangerous mission: to recolonize the planet. It could be their second chance at life...or it could be a suicide mission.</p><p>Confronted with a savage land and haunted by secrets from their pasts, the hundred must fight to survive. They were never meant to be heroes, but they may be mankind's last hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, 
> 
> This AU is based off of the novel “The 100” by Kass Morgan, as well as the TV show by the same name. Originally I was planning on only basing this off of the novel (having not seen the show), but then I actually watched the TV series and had to add aspects from both. I am endlessly impressed with how the show has added to and expanded Kass Morgan’s universe. Regardless I have tried to let this story take on a life of it’s own, and I don’t think you need to be familiar with The 100 at all to read it.
> 
> Now to my fellow book readers; I have decided to cut out the Glass storyline altogether from this fic, and instead substituted by writing in Octavia’s parts by the perspective of Cora, as well as other character parts that will be added along the way. I personally did not enjoy it in the books, and I didn’t really have a use for it in the fic, so please forgive me. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! 
> 
> Ed x 
> 
> (See end notes for acknowledgements and thank-yous)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or The 100.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV - Stiles & Lydia

_Stiles_

As soon as the large metal door swung open, Stiles knew his days were up. The only thing that could possibly be on the other side of that door was death.

It had been a long time since anyone had ever been pardoned by the Colony, and Stiles didn’t think that they would start today.

Stiles had been confined for treason, but the truth was so much worse than that. The truth was what he saw every time he closed his eyes, and what kept him awake in the middle of the night. If he was in charge, Stiles wouldn’t pardon himself either.

The guard entered the room, his clunky boots creating echoing footsteps as he walked towards Stiles. He looked wary, but then, Stiles couldn’t blame him.

People confined by the Colony were usually paired with cell partners until their trials. Stiles had been transferred to a single -- away from his best friend and cellmate Scott -- after attacking one of the guards. But Stiles knew it was better this way. Scott didn’t need to see this, Scott didn’t need to live through Stiles’ final moments.

“Prisoner 325, please rise.” Said the gaunt looking guard. He was quite young -- probably new to the guards service -- and Stiles deducted that he was probably from Walden. The guards rations hadn’t yet disguised his poverse upbringing.

Stiles took a deep breath and rose to his feet. He knew struggling would only make it worse, would only give him less time.

“Hold out your hands,” he ordered, pulling silver restraints from the pocket of his uniform. Stiles shook slightly when the guard’s skin brushed against his as he fastened the restraints. Stiles hadn’t even seen another person since he got transferred, let alone touched one.

“Are they too tight?” the guard asked, a concerned look of sympathy on his face. Stiles gave a small smile for what was probably the last kindness he would ever receive. It made Stiles’ heart hurt -- it had been a long time since anyone but Scott had shown him any form of compassion.

“No, they’re fine,” he replied quietly.

“Just sit on the bed. The doctor is on his way,”

Stiles looked up at the guard in surprise. “They’re doing it here?” his voice scratched roughly against his throat. This meant that they were choosing to forgo his trial. Stiles didn’t know why he was so surprised. It was Colony law that adults were immediately put on trial for their crimes, and that minors were held until their 18th birthday and tried then. But it was becoming more and more frequent that people were being executed within hours of their retrial, for crimes that would have been pardoned a few years ago.

Still, it was hard for Stiles to believe that they’d be so cruel to do it in his cell. He was, in a twisted way, looking forward to spending his last moments in the medi-bay where he had spent so much time during his medical apprenticeship. One last chance to experience something familiar -- before he lost all feeling forever.

The guard spoke without meeting Stiles’ eyes. “I need you to sit down,” he repeated in reply.

Stiles stumbled over to the sparse bed in the corner of the room, and sat down stiffly. It was hard for him to believe that he had been here in solitary for six months alone -- the year he’d spent with Scott had felt like an eternity -- but it had to be so. Today had to be his birthday, and the only present he would receive was a syringe that would paralyse his muscles until his heart stopped beating. Then he would be released out of one of the air-locks, his body left to float in the expanse of space forever.

A shadowy figure entered through the doorway. He wore a long grey coat and a rank badge, but Stiles didn’t need to read it to know who he was. This was Dr. Alan Deaton -- chief medical advisor to the chancellor. Stiles had spent the better part of two years acting as this man’s shadow. Everything Stiles knew about medicine had come from the mouth and actions of this man. Stiles had respected him -- after all he was his mom’s best friend, or at least, he had been before his mom was executed.

“How are you Stiles?” Deaton asked kindly, offering his hand to shake before noticing the shackles on Stiles’ arms. He dropped his hand guiltily.

“Better than I will be in a few minutes.” Stiles drawled sarcastically. Deaton let out a small smile at the bitter attempt at humor. Deaton was all-too familiar with Stiles’ flavor of sarcasm. He turned to the guard.

“Could you undo the cuffs and give us a moment please?” Deaton asked.

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I’m meant to be keeping eyes on him at all time.”

“You can wait outside the door.” Deaton said in reply, not taking no for an answer. “He’s an unarmed seventeen year old, I’m sure I can handle him for a minute.”

The guard gave Deaton a curt nod, stepping forward and undoing Stiles’ cuffs before leaving the room.

“You mean I’m an unarmed eighteen year old.” Stiles corrected, looking at his feet.

Deaton shot him a look of confusion, before his face filled with understanding. “You are still seventeen Stiles.” He said in a calm manner. “You’ve been in solitary for three months.”

Stiles looked up at him in shock, trying to hide the panic in his voice as he said “Then what are you doing here? The law says you have to wait until I’m eighteen!”

“Stiles,” he said firmly, clasping on to Stiles’ flailing arms with his own. “There has been a change of plans. That’s all I’m authorised to say.” There was a pained look in Deaton’s eyes, but Stiles held back any leftover compassion he held for his old mentor.

“So you’re authorised to kill me, but not to talk to me,” he said it quietly, but Stiles could tell from the way Deaton flinched that he had hit home.

Stiles remembered seeing Dr. Deaton at his mother’s trial. At the time, Stiles had read his grim expression as disapproval of the events -- but now he wasn’t so sure. Deaton never spoke up for his mom. No one had. They simply stood watch as the Colony’s most established scientist got sentenced by the Council to death.

“What about my mom? Did you kill her too?”

Deaton gave Stiles a pitying look, and he immediately regretted the words.

“Look Stiles, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m not here to kill you,” Deaton said sincerely. “Could you please hold out your arm?”

Stiles did as the doctor said, not believing him for a minute. It would all be over soon.

Deaton pulled out a cloth that smelt of antiseptic. Stiles shivered as he swept it up and down his arm. “Don’t worry, this isn’t going to hurt.”

Stiles closed his eyes.

He remembered the look of hurt and anguish Lydia had shot him as the members of the council had escorted him out of the chamber. While the initial anger and resentment he had felt had subsided, it roared back in a flash like a white-hot sear of heat.

His mom was dead, and it was all her fault.

Deaton grasped his arm, searching for the vein.

_See you soon mom._

Stiles flinched at the pressure of Dr. Deaton squeezing his arm, and then suddenly his arm was released. His eyes popped open in shock and he looked down at his arm.

"There, you’re all done.” said Deaton.

Stiles looked at the shiny metal implement on his wrist -- it looked almost like a bracelet. He ran his fingers over it and winced as what felt like thousands of tiny needles pricked at his skin.

“What is this?” Stiles asked, unsure whether to be scared or angry. He pulled away from Deaton, not wanting to be any closer to the man.

“Relax. It’s just a device to retain and gather information about your vital signs and functions.” Deaton said calmly. This only worried Stiles more.

“Information?” He felt dread pooling in his stomach, and felt the overwhelming urge to run from the room.

“There’s been some exciting developments.” said Deaton, though it sounded like he was repeating someone else’s words. “You should be very proud. It’s all because of your mother.”

“My mother is dead. She was executed for treason.” Stiles snapped bitterly.

Deaton gave him a disapproving look, but Stiles held his gaze, letting his anger reach his eyes. “Don’t you ruin this, Stiles. You finally have the chance to make up for your mother’s awful crime.”

There was a dull crack as Stiles’ fist collided with the doctor’s face, and then another as his head hit the wall behind him. Within moments the guard had re-entered the room, restraining Stiles’ arms behind his back. Stiles didn’t struggle.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asked.

Deaton sat up slowly rubbing his jaw. Stiles expected to see anger in his eyes, but instead they only held a look of dark humor. “At least we know you’ll be able to hold your own with the other delinquents when you get there.”

“Get where?” Stiles asked, struggling to free himself from the guard's tightening grip.

“Ah, Stiles. You’re about to be a unique part of history. A hundred lucky criminals are being cleared from the detention centre,” he said with a grim smile.

“You’re going to earth.”

 

* * *

 

_Lydia_

The Chancellor looked weary with age. It had only been six weeks since Lydia had seen her mother, but her worn appearance made it look like it had been years. The lines around her eyes had deepened, and her eyes looked darker and older than they had any right to be.

The Chancellor let out a tired sigh, not even bothering to look at her daughter.

“Are you finally going to tell me why you did it?”

Lydia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She itched to tell her the truth -- to wipe away all of the disappointment that was painted all over her face -- but she couldn’t risk it, not before she found out whether her reckless plan had actually worked.

She gazed over her mother’s form, trying to memorize everything one last time. Her eyes wandered from the scar on her temple, to the dark grey of her worn eyes, to the polished Chancellor’s badge clipped to her collar. She memorised every crevice of her mother’s face, almost certain that this would be her last chance to.

When Lydia didn’t reply, The Chancellor turned her gaze and met her eyes. Then it was Lydia herself that had to look away.

“Please Lydia. Was it a dare? Did your friends put you up to it?” She spoke in the same official tone she used at council meetings, and Lydia resisted the urge to flinch.

“No ma'am,” She replied.

“Were you overcome by temporary insanity? Had you taken drugs?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice that Lydia would have laughed at in any other situation. Instead, it made her ache.

“No ma’am,”

Lydia fought the overwhelming urge to reach across the desk and touch her mother’s arm, but it wasn’t just the restraints that held her back. The two of them had not shown any form of physical affection towards each other since her father had died, and it seemed wrong to start now.

“Was it a political statement?” Her questions seemed more like begs now, and Lydia’s heart ached. “Did someone from Beta or Omega put you up to it?”

“No, ma’am,” Lydia repeated, feeling robotic.

Her mother had clearly spent the last six weeks rewriting her daughter through her memories -- turning her into some form or rebel or vigilante -- trying to create some excuse as to why her only daughter, star-student and highest ranked apprentice in the mathematical sciences, had committed the most public infraction the colony had seen.

For her mother, setting fire to the Nemeton tree, the sapling that had been carried onto Alpha just before the exodus, was unjustifiable. Yet for Lydia, it hadn’t been a choice. As soon as she had discovered that Stiles was one of the hundred they were sending to earth, she had to find a way to join them, no matter the cost. And as the Chancellor’s daughter, only the most public of infractions would end with her being confined.

Lydia remembered moving through the bustling crowds at the remembrance ceremony, her hands shaking as she reached for the lighter she had in her pocket. All it took was a single spark, and then total silence --  as if everyone was paralysed --  as the flames enveloped and grew. No one moved for a moment, all watching in horror, but none of them could miss who it was that was being dragged away by the guards.

“Then what on earth were you thinking Lydia?” The Chancellor’s face reflected her disbelief at her daughter. “You could have compromised the whole fleet, people could have died. This could have compromised the air locks, the oxygen supply, and everything in the remembrance hall.”

It would have been better for her to lie --  it would be a lot more easy for her mother to swallow that she did it on a dare or went insane rather than to learn the truth. Lydia had risked it all -- compromised the lives of people around her -- for a boy.

 

* * *

 

_Lydia walked briskly out of the hospital room, her false smile plastered to her face like a mask. Though with the haze of the drugs and painkillers they had him on, her father probably thought it was real. He had seemed lively enough, asking Lydia how her mother was and how her studies were going. She had lied of course, it was better for her father to believe in the lie that was his ‘close’ family then know that in reality Lydia and her mother had not spoken in weeks. They both knew that he didn’t have much time left, so it was easier this way -- easier to feed him sugar-coated truths than to put any further stress on his weak and withered mind._

_Lydia slipped out of the hospital on to B deck, which, thankfully, was mostly empty. Most people were at work or school or at the exchange this hour, which gave her the space to think. Lydia herself was meant to be at a history lecture --  a subject she usually adored, learning about the old cities and ways of life of cities like Rome, New York and Tokyo -- but today the idea of the lingering looks of pity and sympathy from her classmates made her feel sick._

_She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing outside the door before she realised she had come to the library. Lydia let the scanner run over her eyes on autopilot, and pressed her thumb against the finger pad that presented itself. The heavy metal door pulled open, and she stepped inside into the familiar space._

_She took a deep breath as the stillness of the room washed over her. Since being salvaged from earth and brought up to Alpha, the rescued books had been stored here. Their tall cases towered over the room, like glass coffins, preserving the life and history stored inside. The books themselves were only allowed out of their cases for a few hours at a time, so as to avoid deterioration._

_For as long as she could remember, this had been Lydia’s safe haven. Her father would bring her here when she was little and read to her, telling her the tales of the old earth, and the history and beliefs of all that lived there. They had promised each other that they would start coming here again -- but that was before her dad had gotten sick._

_Lydia wove through the dark aisles of books, past the English Language section to the small corner marked ‘History’. The collection was clearly dwindling -- after the virus that had wiped out all of the digital archives the salvaged copies were all that was left. All that was left now was whatever was handed down through the remaining families and donated to the library._

_Lydia’s eyes flickered to the book in the glass case at the bottom and her breath hitched. She moved into a crouch and opened the latch, but paused before she could reach out to the book. ‘The War of the Roses’ -- it had been the last book her father had ever read to her._

_“You know, you’re not supposed to leave that case open for that long,” a voice behind her made her start._

_“Yes, I know that, thank you,” Lydia replied, snarkier than she had intended. She rose to her feet and turned, only to feel a stab of anger. The voice had belonged to the young apprentice medic, from the hospital. She had hoped that coming here would help her escape the lingering smell of antiseptic and death, but apparently not._

_The boy took a step back and a flash of recognition ran over his face. “Oh, it’s you,”_

_Lydia waited for the inevitable moment when the boy would try and flirt with her or suck up to her -- they all wanted a chance to be in with The Chancellor’s daughter -- but the moment never came._

_The boy’s eyes stayed focused right on her, as if he was stripping her back and peering into her brain. It made Lydia feel a world of discomfort... and something else._

_"You want that book?” he asked, nodding to the case where The War of the Roses was stored._

_Lydia shook her head. “I’ll read it another time,”_

_He was still for a moment. “I think you should take it now.” Lydia tensed for a moment, but the boy continued. “I used to see you here with your father, you should take it to him.”_

_Lydia snorted. “Just because my mother is The Chancellor doesn’t mean I get to go around breaking 300 year old rules whenever I want.” she replied, allowing a shade of condescension to seep into her tone. If the boy noticed, he didn’t show it._

_“The book will be fine for a few hours, they over exaggerate the effects of the open air on the deterioration.”_

_Lydia raised an eyebrow, “Did they exaggerate the power of the exit scanner?”_

_There were scanners placed at various stations around Alpha. Each scanner could be programmed to unique specifications -- and this one one to prevent anyone from leaving with a book hidden under their clothes or elsewhere._

_A smirk twisted on to his face. “I figured that out a long time ago.” He quickly did a once over of the aisle around them, before reaching into his pouch and pulling out what appeared to be a grey cloth. “It keeps the scanner from recognising the cellulose on the paper, pretty neat huh?” He extended it out to her. “Here, take it.”_

_Lydia took a small step back. “Why do you have this?” she asked, more suspicious that the boy was just trying to cause trouble than anything else._

_He gave her a wide grin. “I like to read in other places,”_

_When Lydia didn’t say anything he extended his other hand. “Here, I’ll sneak it out for you and give it to you at the hospital.”_

_Lydia surprised herself as she handed him the book. “What’s your name?” she asked._

_"So you know to whom you’ll be eternally indebted?” he said with a grin._

_She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “No, so I know who to blame when I get arrested.”_

_The boy tucked the book under his arm and extended his hand. “Stiles.”_

_“Lydia,” she said, reaching forward to shake it. She smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t hurt._

 

* * *

 

“They barely managed to save the tree,” her mother said, staring at her in desperation. She was searching Lydia’s face for a sign, any reason why she could have done something so ridiculously reckless. “A number of council members wished to execute you on the spot, regardless of the fact you are still a minor. It was sheer dumb luck that I was able to convince them to send you to earth with the others.”

Lydia exhaled with relief. She knew that most of the older teens in confinement would be sent to earth, but it wasn’t until this moment that she was sure she would be sent as well.

Lydia’s mother’s eyes widened in surprise as she stared at her. “This was what you wanted?!” she asked, eyes full of shock.

Lydia nodded.

The Chancellor grimaced. “Lydia,” she said, softer than before. “If I had known you were so desperate to go to earth I could have easily organised for you to be a part of the second expedition, when it will be safe.”

Lydia felt a bout of frustration, but pushed it back. “I didn’t want to wait. I want to be part of the first 100.”

“Why?” asked the Chancellor, her eyes narrowing at her daughter’s impassive expression. “You of all people know the risks.”

“You were the one who convinced the council the nuclear winter was over,” she said accusingly. “You were the one who said it was safe.”

“Safe enough for one hundred convicted convicts that are doomed to die anyway,” her voice was a mixture of outrage and disbelief. “Not safe enough for my only daughter.”

The anger that Lydia had been trying to smother down burned to life, pushing away any remaining guilt she felt. She jerked her hands up, ignoring the pain of the metal restraints digging in to her. The metal clanged, and by the look on the Chancellor’s face her point was made clear.

“I guess I’m one of them now,”

“Your father would not have wanted you to do this Lydia. Just because he used to daydream about earth does not in any way mean he would have approved of these actions. He would not have wanted you to put yourself in harm's way.”

Lydia leaned forward, looking her mother dead in the eyes for the first time since she sat down. “He’s not who I’m doing this for.”

Her mother stared at her, an inscrutable look on her face. “You’re doing this for the boy.”

“It’s my fault that he’s being sent down there in the first place. I need to do this. I need to make sure he has the best chance of making it out alive.”

The door behind them slid open and a guard stepped in. “It’s time, ma’am.”

The Chancellor nodded, and the guard walked across the room to Lydia, pulling her to her feet.

“Good luck Lydia,” she said, no trace of warmth left in her voice. “If anyone can make this mission a success, it will be you.”

She extended her arm to shake the hand of her daughter, realising too late her mistake. The hands of her only child were shackled behind her back.

 

 


End file.
